


The Party Guests

by LuftStalagSlash (GrrraceUnderfire)



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Adorable Peter, Crossdressing, Crossdressing for the greater good, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Male Slash, Prisoner of War, Shy Peter, Stalag 13, Stuttering Peter Newkirk, World War II, crossdressing Peter Newkirk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2020-06-25 01:04:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 12,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrrraceUnderfire/pseuds/LuftStalagSlash
Summary: Sometimes the only sensible thing to do at a hectic party is slow down and enjoy yourselves. Because it could be the night you remember for the rest of your life.NEW CHAPTER 9. Yes, I continue to write the story out of order





	1. Chapter 1

“Hurry. In here.” Colonel Robert Hogan stopped speedwalking down a corridor long enough to grab Corporal Peter Newkirk by the shoulder and push him into a large bedchamber inside Graf von Kleist’s tidy estate in a leafy district of Düsseldorf.

“Inside, inside,” Hogan urged as Newkirk stumbled through the door.

“You’re not the one in bleedin’ heels,” Newkirk snapped as Hogan shut them in.

“Damn. No door lock. What do people do for privacy?” Hogan griped as he pushed the double doors shut. He looked around, then cracked the door open a notch and peered into the hallway.

“Christ, it’s Hochstetter. He might have seen me.” He gripped Newkirk by the arm as he heard the doors opening and shutting along the long corridor.

“Just … just … get on the bed,” Hogan said as he shed his jacket.

“What? Lie down?” Newkirk squeaked. It was tempting, but highly irregular. His feet were killing him in the heels he’d worn for his masquerade as Oberst Hochendorf’s wife at the von Kleist charity ball, his green and blue satin dress itched, and his girdle pinched in places no boy liked pinching.

“This is not the time to be prim, Newkirk,” Hogan hissed. “You’re my wife. Do I have to spell it out? Let me make love to you.” He rolled his eyes at the look of horror that crossed Newkirk’s face. “Jesus, Newkirk, it just has to look like we’re busy so we can get rid of him!”

Newkirk eyes bulged, but he left his shoes and girdle in a heap, then flung himself on the bed. Hogan kicked off his shoes and pants to join him. The sound of doors slamming was getting closer as Hogan climbed atop his corporal.

“Put your goddamned arms around me,” he ordered. “Act interested.”

“Bloody hell,” Newkirk replied as Hogan thrust his hips. Hogan silenced him with a deep, wet, passionate kiss. Hogan’s tongue was wrestling Newkirk’s into submission when the door flew open and a flashlight illuminated the bed.

“Oh, Willy!” Newkirk moaned in a sweet soprano. “Fill me one more time before you leave for the Carpathians.”

“Helga, Helga,” Hogan murmured. “Spread your wings, my darling.” He pushed at Newkirk’s thigh suggestively, then reared up to berate the intruders.

“How dare you interrupt an officer of the glorious Third Reich on his last night with his wife!” Hogan declaimed. “Leave at once!”

“Begging your pardon, Mein Herr,” Hochstetter replied. “Move along!” he commanded his lieutenants. “Hogan must have slipped out back.”

Hearing the door slam behind him, Hogan stopped thrusting and collapsed onto Newkirk in relief. “OK, they’re gone,” he said as he rested from his exertions, feeling Newkirk's heartbeat thumping beneath him.

Hogna propped himself on his elbows and looked with concern at Newkirk, who was panting slightly.

“Hey, your heart’s going a mile a minute. Don’t be scared. It’s over. We can get going.” He smiled.

Then he felt a nudge. It poked his belly, then twitched. 

“Uh, Newkirk?” Hogan said. "Is there something you want to tell me?”

The Corporal inhaled, trying desperately not to look as embarrassed as he felt.

”I’d rather not say, Sir,” Newkirk replied crisply.

”I think I deserve to know what’s going on,” Hogan said, a tinge of amusement creeping into his voice.

“Oh, well... umm... yes. It’s, um, ah, it’s a consequence of fr-friction, Sir,” Newkirk replied. “Terribly sorry. Not arousal. Definitely fr-fr-friction. Um, Sir.”

“Friction, hmm?” Hogan said, smiling as he trailed a finger along Newkirk’s jaw, studying the Englishman’s features as if he’d never seen them. He certainly had interesting eyes, almond shaped and hooded. Hogan ran the back of his hand lightly down Newkirk’s cheek to his neck. Warmth suddenly flooded his senses. He could feel his temperature rising.

A wide-eyed Newkirk was straining to form a response when Hogan cut him off with a soft, sensuous, and exceptionally interesting kiss. “Friction will also fix it,” he whispered. He cupped Newkirk's cheek, stroked his neck, and said “wait.” He climbed off him, located a chair, and jammed it under the door handle.

“There. We’re in no rush,” Hogan said as straddled his blushing corporal. “Wouldn’t want to run into Hochstetter while he’s searching the grounds. Half an hour and we’ll walk right out the front door and into a car.”

“No, w-wouldn’t want to rush,” Newkirk said breathlessly as Hogan fingered the buttons on his neckline.

“Let’s just … slip this off,” Hogan said, lifting the chemise over Newkirk’s head to reveal a well-padded brassiere. He took in the slight shadow on Newkirk's chin and added, “And turn the lights down.”

“Yes, Willy,” Newkirk said playfully as his fingers found Hogan's fly. He’d always had a bad habit of thinking with the wrong organ, and just now he thought he might be able to get into the spirit of fun.

“Mmm, Helga my love,” Hogan said as Newkirk reached inside his boxer shorts and freed him. “Mmm, yes, right there.” He kissed Newkirk deeply as the corporal felt around cautiously and then sudden confidence. Newkirk was quite familiar with the workings of this particular piece of equipment, and he pumped it to a nice, firm hardness. Hogan pulled Newkirk's hand away just as things were getting interesting, not wanting to finish too soon.

“You mmmentioned friction, Gov?” Newkirk hinted.

Hogan grinned and reciprocated, stroking steadily as Newkirk squirmed. Then Hogan decided to wriggle down for an inspection and a taste. Sucking like he could give lessons, he brought Newkirk to the edge, then sat back, spat in his hands, and latched on to finish him.

“Oh, Gov,” Newkirk breathed rhythmically as he gazed into Hogan’s brown eyes. “Never thought… this day… would come. Wanted it... so bad... with you. Oh, my God, Sir. I’m c-coming.” Hogan’s covered Newkirk’s mouth and brought him to a fast, loud, messy completion.

Hogan smiled at his corporal, sprawled bonelessly on the mattress beneath him, and took himself in hand. “You’ve been… waiting… for this… have you? Me ... too.” He leaned in for another kiss, then resumed pumping himself, splattering Newkirk’s belly as he threw his head back and moaned.

Hogan collapsed again on Newkirk, who began sucking his earlobe. Newkirk knew he was always noisy when making love, but the Gov came quietly, always firmly in control, he noted jealously. Emphasis on 'firmly,' he snickered to himself. And the Gov was so strong. Hogan's regular morning push-ups clearly helped him stay up on top, Newkirk thought. He squeezed Hogan's firm biceps and sighed contentedly as the Colonel stroked his neck. Hogan finally lifted his head, gave his corporal another long, squishy kiss, then stood.

“Well, that was nice. We’d better get back to camp,” Hogan said nonchalantly as he gathered his uniform. “Not a word, of course,” he added, without even looking up.

“My lips are sealed,” Newkirk said, tucking his limp self back into his girdle.

“Glad they weren’t before,” Hogan said, winking. He watched the corporal slip his dress back on. “You’re very pretty tonight, Peter.”

“Um, thank you, Sir?” Newkirk replied, suppressing a smirk of satisfaction as he primped in front of the mirror. He had to make an effort. A Colonel’s—um, Oberst’s—wife mustn’t look a fright, must he? Um, she?

“Peter?” Hogan asked, hands stroking the corporal's shoulder as he reapplied lipstick and poufed his wig. “Next time I get invited to a ball, you’re my date,” Hogan said, extending his elbow to whisk his wife downstairs and out the front door.

Plush pink lips stained his cheek, and lingered. “I’ll hold you to that, Gov,” Newkirk whispered in his ear, then blew softly.


	2. Epilogue 1943

“Um, Sir? You wanted to see me?”

It was Newkirk, hovering at the door to Colonel Hogan’s quarters. He was pulling at the hem of his shirt and looking for all the world like a little boy expecting to be scolded. 

“Come in, Newkirk. Take a seat.” Hogan gestured to his bottom bunk. 

“Sitting at the table would be, um, mmmore convenient, wouldn’t it, Sir?”

Hogan looked over his shoulder. “Nah. I’m working on some paperwork. Over here is better.” He pulled up a chair, spun it around and straddled it with his arms on the chair back. He smiled warmly at the young Corporal. 

They sat in silence for a moment until Newkirk stated the obvious. 

“You asked to see me, Sir?”

Hogan was studying his eyes, his lips, his ... other features. He shook himself out of his reverie long enough to reply. 

“Yes, of course. I was wondering how we are today.”

”I’m fine, Sir. Will that be all?” 

“I’m glad you’re fine,” Hogan said with a smile. He softened his voice. “But that’s not what I said. I asked how _we_ are.”

”We? I don’t think I understand, Gov.”

”Oh, think hard, Newkirk,” Hogan teased. “Do you remember anything about last night?”

Newkirk blushed. “Well, that was a mmmmmmistake, wasn't it? Anyhow, you said ‘not a word about this,’ Sir. I wasn’t, wasn’t going to, wasn’t going to to to bring it up. I’m trying to forget it ever happened.”

Hogan’s eyes danced merrily. “Was it that bad, Peter? Somehow I got the impression that you were enjoying it.” He leaned in closer. “You said you wanted it. You’d been hoping.”

Newkirk looked at him anxiously. “Well, I was. I mean I did. And I know it’s wr-wrong, very wrong. Not natural for two mmmmen, but it’s been so long. So I mean, yes, Sir. It was very, um, pleasurable. I mean pleasant. Or, nnno, that f-first word,” he said. “But you said...”

”Take it easy, Peter,” Hogan laughed. “No, not a word to anyone else, of course. But _we_ can discuss it.”

”Well, then it was ruddy stupid of you, Sir,” Newkirk hissed. “I mean, I understand what we had to do for the mmmmission. But you didn’t need to... to...”

”Can I point out here that you were the one with the erection?” Hogan said with a grin. He couldn’t help himself; he was enjoying watching Newkirk squirm. 

“Yeah and you were the one humping me and k-kissing me. What did you think would happen?” Newkirk blushed. He’d never talked about sex so bluntly and the word “erection” was embarrassing.

Hogan raised his hands in surrender. “OK, OK. I seduced you. Are you happy?” He watched in fascination as Newkirk’s cheeks turned pink. Seeing his cocky Englishman suddenly turn shy sent a wave of warmth through his loins. Ravishing, he thought.

Newkirk thought about that. “A bit,” he said, looking up diffidently through his eyelashes. “I mean, I was. I mmmean, it f-felt so good. Especially that part when you, you know..,”

“ When I...?” Hogan prompted.

”When you... you know... oh bloody hell.”

”Maybe you could show me rather than tell me,” Hogan said. 

Newkirk looked up in surprise. “What, here? You must be mad, Sir. All the other lads...”

”...are outside exercising. We could exercise in here. Together. Perhaps I could show you some new exercises. If you’d like that.” The heat was rising in Hogan’s voice and Newkirk could have sworn he was panting a bit.

Hogan pushed his chair away and rested a hand on Newkirk’s trim waist. He stroked him seductively, then pulled Newkirk up and into a kiss. When they were both out of breath, Newkirk leaned back and said, “I’d like that Sir. But...well, you're an officer, Gov. And ... the lads. If we’re caught...” He looked nervously toward the door.

”We’ve got at least 30 minutes,” Hogan said as he carried the chair to the door and jammed it in place. “There. No entry. All alone.” He turned to Newkirk and smiled, then stood over him and peeled his RAF sweater off. He took off his own shirt and straddled his corporal on the bunk.

”Now, what was it that I did that was so interesting to you?” Hogan asked between kisses. 

“Um, um. We’re going to have to take a few mmmmore clothes off to answer that,” Newkirk replied. As Hogan loosened the Corporal’s waistband and fly, Newkirk added, “You’re getting very warm. It might have, um, involved your tongue, too, Sir.”

”Mmm. I’ll bet it did,” Hogan said as he slid Newkirk's trousers down. “Let’s see if we can figure this out. And then I’m going to teach you a new exercise.”

”What’s that, Sir?”

”It’s called ‘turnabout is fair play.’ You’ll get the hang of it.” 

“Something tells me I will, Gov. Ooh, right there. And Sir?"

"Mmmm. Yes, Peter?"

"This time, don't st-stop with your tongue till you're sure I'm done."


	3. A Farmhouse Near Hammelburg, 1943

“You’re so strong, Sir,” Newkirk whispered as he stroked Hogan’s biceps. They had stopped at an abandoned farmhouse for a little recreation on their way home from a mission.

”You have to be when you’re on top,” Hogan replied. “You’re no slouch yourself, Newkirk. I imagine you’ve had a lot of girls under you.”

”Well, yes, a few. Six or seven,” Newkirk replied.

”Really? The way you talk, I would have guessed 60 or 70.”

”Well, I was only 18 when I went into the RAF. So really just three, Sir,” Newkirk said softly. “Rita, and a couple of girls near by base whose names I didn’t know.” He deliberately avoided mentioning one girl ... the one he should never have touched, his brother Jamie’s wife, Laura.

Hogan sat up, straddling his corporal, and studied his face. “Really, Newkirk? But Rita was your steady girl, right?”

Newkirk nodded shyly. “I did it a few times with Rita.”

”A few times?”

”Three?”

”Really.” Hogan was feeling uneasy now. He thought Newkirk had a lot more experience. This didn’t feel right to begin with, but now he worried he was taking advantage of the boy.

”Almost three times. I, um, came too fast the first time. Never got inside her. But I touched her a lot!”

”And then you did go all the way?”

”Oh, yes, Gov. Twice. Right before I left for boot camp.”

”You liked it?”

”Nothing like it, Sir.”

”That’s not an answer.”

”Well... I like this better, Gov.”

”Uh huh. And I’m your first male lover?”

”Um, not exactly.”

”Oh, really? Who beat me to it?”

”Louis? If we’re counting handjobs, that is. And a few blokes at home.”

”A few?”

”Five or six? Maybe closer to 10. I can’t recall.”

”Newkirk, you’re a queer!”

”Well, if you put it that way...” He smiled then whispered in Hogan’s ear.

”You want me to.. what? You’re sure?”

Newkirk nodded eagerly. “Like ‘Helga’ said in the hotel, fill me up, you manly beast!”

Hogan’s concerns melted. Well, if he was asking for it... Then a thought hit him: ”I didn’t bring any lotion, Newkirk.”

”Mmmm. Then I think you’d better start stroking. If I come in your hand, we’ll have enough to work with.”


	4. Epilogue 1965

May 1965

Had it really been 20 years? Newkirk looked across the front seat as Hogan motored along the autobahn, driving to the hotel in Dusseldorf where they would be spending the night. Hogan drove with the concentration of a fighter pilot, tightly focused on the road ahead of him yet taking in everything around him and constantly adjusting accordingly. 

“Did you say something?” he asked Newkirk.

”Not out loud, Robert,” Newkirk laughed. “I was just thinking, has it really been 20 years?” 

“Since the camp’s liberation?” Hogan said with a grin. “20 years, a month, and six days. Not that I’m counting or anything. We’ll be at the hotel in 20 minutes.”

”I do like going to hotels with you,” Newkirk answered cheerfully. “Mmm.”

”Mmm. Keep your pants on. We’ll be there soon enough.” Hogan looked over to see Newkirk hand stroking his lap. “Save some for me, willya?”

”There’s always plenty for you, Gov. It just takes a little longer in between now that I’m nearly 50.”

”You’ve still got to get to 43, Peter,” Hogan said with an eye roll. “Try being 59. God, I’m pushing 60. How the hell did that happen?” 

“In your case, I’d say with a vast amount of luck,” Newkirk replied. His hand landed on Hogan’s thigh and rested there.

”Don’t try anything,” Hogan said, looking down with a smile. “Not while I’m driving.”

”Just wanted to be near you, Love,” Newkirk replied in all seriousness. The same hand stroked Hogan’s neck, then returned to its resting place on his thigh. They exited the highway and drove through a leafy corner of Dusseldorf for a few miles before pulling onto a boulevard. Robert steered the car down a gravel driveway toward an old estate. “Hotel von Kleist,” the sign read.

”This is Graf von Kleist’s place!” Newkirk said in surprise as Hogan pulled into a space. “The first place where we...”

”Mmhmm,” Hogan replied. “Aren’t you glad you’re not in heels this time?”

”Ooh. I could be if you wanted me to, Gov,” Newkirk replied.

**XXX**

Newkirk and Hogan had been reunited for four years. After the war, they’d parted as lovers and gone on with the lives they always supposed they would have; marriage, children, jobs, routine. Hogan’s marriage to Tiger hadn’t lasted, but they remained close friends and shared custody of their children, Brendan and Suzanne, now both in high school in Paris, where Hogan was attached to the U.S.Embassy.

Newkirk, meanwhile, had finally married the love of his life, Rita Nottington, only to lose her in 1960 to breast cancer. After their marriage in 1947, their five children—Robert, Veronica, Maeve, Christopher and Colin—had arrived every two years like clockwork and now ranged in age from 16 to 8.

After Rita’s death, Newkirk’s first son Simon, now 24, helped as much as he could. But mostly it fell to Mavis to run the household. Taking care of motherless children seemed to be her fate. She had raised Peter and his sisters, and then raised Simon, Peter’s love child with his late sister in law Laura.

The flame between the Colonel and the Corporal, which had been stoked for the very first time on a mission to the von Kleist mansion, had never died down completely. But the men kept their old passion subdued until Hogan persuaded a grief-stricken Newkirk to join him on a getaway to France in the spring of 1961. Accompanied by LeBeau and his wife, they decamped to a country house and spent two weeks in the lap of luxury. It was on the fourth night there that Hogan came into Newkirk’s bedroom upon hearing his muffled cries from the room next door. He comforted him as he grieved for Rita, and after that, he never left. They spent the remaining nights and not a few days tangled in one another’s arms.

LeBeau, greeting the men at breakfast one morning, had nodded knowingly. The tender looks that passed between the men were familiar and unmistakable. “Together again,” he thought with relief. It was his wife Chantal who noted affectionately, “They are just like Paul and Martin” — her brother and his lover.

Later, LeBeau pulled Newkirk aside and told him he had wondered how long it would take before they were back together. Rita, he told a shaking Pierre, would have understood. She knew his pain and his profound need for companionship and comfort. And she knew there was a part of him that had always loved Robert Hogan.

”She told you that?” Newkirk asked through tears.

“She did,” LeBeau said. He had grown so fond of the petite blonde girl whose letters and photos—oh, those provocative photos!—had kept a fire lit in Newkirk's soul for five long years at Stalag 13. “She knew he meant something more to you than even to me or James or Andrew. She knew YOU, mon pote.”

“I told her meself, after we were married, that the Colonel and I had ... been together. I thought she would despise me for it. But she only asked me to tell her first if I needed to see him. When he came to London in ‘57, she urged me... well, we had a long weekend of golfing in Scotland. Only we didn’t golf. We got reacquainted.” 

He looked earnestly at LeBeau. “Louis, stop me if I am saying too much. But I’ve never stopped thinking about having him... inside me.” He squirmed uncomfortably, waiting for LeBeau to erupt.

He didn’t erupt. He smiled indulgently. “Pierre, mon cherie, sometimes I think I know you better than you know yourself. When we were at Stalag 13, did you imagine I didn’t see what was happening between you two? You glowed in his presence. You came back from every mission with him more devoted to him. He kept you alive with hope and love.”

”Love?” Newkirk said. “You could tell?”

”Of course. You needed love, the kind that Hogan could give you. Serious, strong, unquestionable love by the only person who could control you.”

”I loved you too, Louis. I still do. You know that.”

”Oui, I know very well. You are still my little brother and I love you. We had our moments of passion, and I would make love to you again if you wanted to. But our love is different from what you feel for Hogan. You like to be with me, but you want to give yourself to him.”

”I had that with Rita, too. Surrender.” He gulped. “Rita. Am I betraying her?”

”You are honoring her, mon pote. No other woman could compare. She understands the depth of your ache.”

”He wants me to go to America with him. For a year, until he can transfer to London.” 

“Then go. It will be a great adventure for you and your little ones,” LeBeau had said.


	5. Coming Together in America, 1961-65

So he went, of course. All six children followed along, with Simon - clever Simon - having opportunity to attend community college and later university in the States. It was a chance at an education that he’d never have had in England, and his devotion to his “Uncle Robert” only grew. 

Peter was Hogan’s trusted aide, traveling everywhere with the General. At his side at all times. No one would know how literally the two men took that. They wouldn’t guess, which was good, because they couldn’t know. 

Sex was different and yet it wasn’t. They both had been with women most of their lives, both knew and loved the softness of a woman’s touch, the easy glide into her innermost spaces, the wetness. But Peter relished not being in charge, loved feeling Hogan’s hardness press into him, loved showing his soft, sweet side to a man he trusted with his life. And Hogan loved dominating another man, exploring the male physique with the confidence of a native but the curiosity of a visitor. And he loved gentleness too, cradling Newkirk through his grief and sorrow and soothing him with words and gestures. Enticing, arousing gestures.

So they made love daily, often more, like newlyweds. Like teenagers, Robert said as he panted to keep up. Sometimes, spent and unable to keep going, he just watched as Peter masturbated to a second or third orgasm. They both realized they liked that, the chances for Peter to be completely in charge in of himself and show off his prowess. Hogan loved seeing him hard.

”How did I keep my hands off you in Stalag 13?” Hogan wondered aloud one night as they lay in a hotel bed in Brussels, Peter stroking himself after a vigorous lovemaking session.

”You didn’t, Sir,” Peter replied. Yes, Hogan was still “Sir” even in bed, because old habits die hard and because he was Newkirk’s superior officer and because, well, he was the Gov. “You were on me constantly, practically groping me.”

”I wasn’t groping!” Hogan protested. “I never got near anything interesting until that time at von Kleist’s.” They both smiled at the memory of their first tryst, however accidental it was.

”Bloody good thing you weren’t groping, because you would have been shocked at what you found.”

”Oh?” Hogan said with a huskiness entering his voice. Peter was lying in his arms as he masturbated, and Hogan drew him closer. “What would I have found?”

Peter kept pumping, nearing the point of no return. “A clear expression of interest, Sir. Under my coat. Under the table. In formation. Anytime I looked at you too long. Oh, Sir. You do it, please.”

Hogan squished some lotion into his hand and took over. He sighed as he felt Newkirk’s powerful erection and he pumped, slowly at first, then faster and faster until Peter went over the edge. Lying in Hogan’s arms, he trembled as his whole body went electric and he could feel nothing but the juices pulsing out of him, giving him relief. He drenched Hogan’s hand and shot past it, his semen spraying the bed linens where they lay.

”Oh, God, Robert. Was it like this with you and Tiger?”

”It was amazing at times, but no it wasn’t like this,” Hogan replied. “But she knew how to go down on me.”

”Better than me?” 

“Different with a woman. You know that. You know much better what feels good. But she had a way about her. Always exploring, whereas you already know the terrain, baby.”

Hogan didn’t particularly like this line of thought but he knew Peter needed to voice it as he processed His beloved wife’s life and death. So he asked the expected question. “What about you and Rita?”


	6. Rita: Honeymoon, 1947

“Peter, please darling. Maybe if you could just relax. It’s our honeymoon, after all.”

Rita lay in bed next to her husband, her hand gently stroking his inner thigh. It had been a frustrating few nights together. To her shock, her husband — who had been so eager and willing for sex before they were married —couldn’t seem to keep it up. They’d kissed and nuzzled and rubbed and touched. But on the third day of their honeymoon, they had yet to consummate the marriage.

Peter huffed. “Maybe later, love. I need a bath anyway.” He kissed her sensuously, then let his fingers run down her belly to explore the space between her legs. “Mm, you’re wet and ready for me,” he said. Suddenly he looked crestfallen and whispered, “I’m sorry, love.”

She held his hand in place and guided it as his fingers stroked her. After three days of trying, she was overly aroused and needed relief. So, she knew, did Peter—and she had already heard him getting it as he disappeared into the bathroom.

As he stroked her, she reciprocated, hoping that this time he would stay hard enough. The passion intensified and he climbed on top of her. But no sooner had he slid in than his erection faded, and he slipped right out. 

With a deep sigh, he buried his face in the pillow. Rita could see his shoulder shaking. 

In all the years she had known Peter Newkirk, Rita had never anticipated that he would completely fail to perform once they were married. They’d known one another since they were young teenagers. Rita had masturbated Peter to orgasm numerous times before they ever had intercourse. At 17 and 19,they did have intercourse— not skilled sex, but they’d done it — before his RAF service whisked him away. When he returned from five years in a stalag, he was eager and willing, but Rita asked to wait until they finally married in 1947. She performed a few hand jobs and blow jobs along the way when Peter just couldn’t stand it any more. But in recent weeks something had changed.

Rita put it down to nerves about marriage with its responsibilities. She knew all about Laura, Peter’s late sister in law and mother of his little boy Simon, who was now 6. She would be a fool to think Peter didn’t miss her.

And there was one more image she couldn’t get out of her head.

She’d seen him through the door to the groomsmen’s room in the church. Peter, with another man’s arms around him. General Hogan, or as Peter called him, the Gov. Surely it was just an instance of an older, more experienced man bucking up a younger one on his big day. Peter, having lost his father and with his brothers locked away, saw Hogan and most of his Stalag 13 mates as family. Rita knew how Peter looked up to Hogan, LeBeau and Kinch. Hogan was a father figure.

A father figure whose hands were wandering, brushing up against her husband’s crotch, then rubbing his neck. No, that was not what it looked like, she told herself. Hogan was married to that gorgeous French woman, Marie. His hand had slipped.

She laid her hand across Peter’s shoulders. “Darling, there’s nothing you can’t tell me,” she said. 

He rolled over, looked up at her and smiled weepily. “I’m sssso embarrassed, Rita. We’ve both w-w-waited so long for this,” he said. “I j-j-j-just can’t seem to...it’s not that you’re not...”

“You’ll relax, you’ll see,” she said reassuringly. “Perhaps there’s someone you could talk to about it.”

”There’s nothing to discuss,” he said. “I j-j-just need to get over...”

Another woman? Rita thought. Of course, that was it.

”Peter, I understand there may have been other women in your life,” Rita said. “But it’s all right.” She kissed him sweetly. “You didn’t marry them. You married me.”

“I did, Rita. And I love you and w-w-want to be with you. But there’s sssomething I need to tell you, someone else you need to know about. I w-wish I could say it was over between mmme and him, but I’m not sure it will ever be.”

Him? Rita loved her husband with her whole heart, but this was not what she expected to hear.


	7. At Last

There. It was out. My face was covered in hot tears, but I’d said it. I was in love with Colonel... no, General... Hogan.

Rita looked pained but there was something else. Recognition. A missing piece of the puzzle had turned up under the sofa and been pried into place. She could see all of me now.

And she still loved me.

“Do you think of him whenever we’re...”

“Sometimes,” I admitted. “And sometimes with him, I was thinking of you.”

“Do you have any desire for me, Peter?”

“Oh, God, yes, love. Rita, you have to understand. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

“But how...? Oh my God, Peter. When did you last... make love with him?”

I didn’t want to say it, but I knew I had to be honest. “The night before our wedding.”

She went silent, and her shoulders shook a bit. 

“Please don’t cry, Rita.”

But she couldn’t stop. She curled into my chest, sobbing. I could feel her tears trickling into my underarms.

”How could you do that to me?” she said through tears. “Why couldn’t you just tell him no?” Then she took a breath and asked, “Did he force you?”

”He didn’t fffforce me. We were drinking at the bachelor p-par-party. We walked back to his hotel and we j-j-j-j, j-j-j-j...” I stopped to try a different tack. “We went through so many things together in the war, and we, we got close. But we broke it off when we came b-back to a normal life. We both agreed. But when I saw him again, we, we j-just got carried away. I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

I held her tightly, caressing her neck and shoulders stroking her arms.

”You are so beautiful,” I said softly. “I’m lucky to be married to you.” I kissed her breasts, suckling them lightly and playing with the nipples.

She breathed deeply, sighing, moaning. I hadn’t been able to satisfy my wife and she wanted it desperately. My fingers slid into her knickers and went to her fanny*, feeling the wetness there. I stroked and rubbed her until she was trembling. I slid down, pulled off her knickers, put my tongue on her fanny and licked, darting it in and out. There were some things I was very good at in bed, and this was one. I teased and licked her until she came in a great rolling wave of moans and cries.

She lay down beside me panting, laughing as she caught her breath.

Then she climbed on top of me and kissed me. And kissed me more.

And I couldn’t hold back. I could feel myself responding, burning. Finally we were skin to skin.

She guided me in, and from underneath, from the girl’s place, the position where the Gov liked me best, I could feel myself inside her. Big. Strong. Powerful. Manly. With my hands on her plush, trim buttocks, I controlled our pace. I thought only of her, her beautiful heart shaped face, her sorceress eyes. I pulled her closer, stroked her breasts, and took an erect nipple in my mouth. And sucked.

I pulled her tighter, thrust harder, and felt her tremble.

“Oh, god, Peter, yes,” she cried breathlessly.

I switched breasts, remembered the times I made Tiger come this way. Thought of lying in my bunk with a picture of Rita pinned to the wall and my dick in my hand.

And I came inside her. Proud. Relieved. A man, at last, even if she was on top.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fanny is not the same part of the anatomy in British English as it is in American. It’s the female genitals, and Newkirk is very skilled at pleasing women despite his recent performance problem.


	8. Bachelor Night

It had been over a year since Robert showed me around America. Well, a few cities and towns between Boston and Washington, D.C. A Yankees baseball game, a Broadway play, a jazz concert — all the things he loved and wanted me to see too. Tiger left for Paris to see her family.

We had 13 nights together, fittingly. Provincetown was my favorite. Three days of sun and sand, drag shows, and morning, afternoon and evening sex. It was supposed to get it out of our system. He was married and I was on my way to the altar.

So when he came to London for my wedding to Rita in June 1947, it had been a solid year apart. My passion for Rita was at a fever pitch. We were waiting — her idea — even though we’d been together many times. We wanted a good build up to the big night. She was a good girl, though, and obliged me while I counted the days. Her small, soft hands and that tongue of hers were very talented indeed. 

Nobody planned it this way. One minute I was at the club the Gov had found for us, with a girl on my lap and a stripper on the stage in front of me. A dozen of my mates were there, including all four of my closest. Louis and Kinch were enjoying themselves with the ladies. Carter was just looking stunned; and Hogan had disappeared twice with two different girls and returned rather disheveled. I was hard, but thought it would be impolite to come on a girl I’d just met. So I took myself to the men’s room with Louis. We talked about the strippers and wanked together fast. Just side by side, not touching.

Eventually Hogan paid the bill for the party and we stumbled onto the street at half past eleven. It was drizzling, and the others piled into cabs to head back to their homes and hotel rooms.

”Let’s walk it,” Hogan said to me. We were two miles from the Dorchester. Half an hour’s walk. Why not?

We arrived drenched but the walk helped restore sobriety. 

“Come up for a nightcap,” he coaxed me. It was my last night as a bachelor, I thought. Why not?

I sat in a chair, dripping, as he handed me a drink. He stood over me, tutting. 

“What?” I said, grinning up at him.

“You must be freezing. Go take a shower.”

I was shaking like a leaf, actually. I stood. “All right,” I shrugged. I needed to be ready for my wedding day. Might as well clean up here, where the hot water was free and plentiful.

I headed into the bathroom, stripped, stepped into the shower.

Then he stepped in beside me. I stared for a moment, then smiled and wrapped my arms around him.

He kissed me, long and hard, like he’d just remembered how. Then he took a bar of soap, lathered me up, and did the same for himself. 

And he took us both in hand. We kissed passionately while he stroked us as one. And then we exploded.

We rinsed off and fell into bed, still wet. An hour later, we were at it again. 


	9. All Night

We made love all night long, Hogan and I. Making up for lost time, really. It had been months since I’d been alone with him.  
  
The truth I wasn’t thinking of the day ahead of me. My marriage to Rita. Two separate things, I thought. Hogan knew how to play with me, to entice me, to excite me. Rita loved me, pure and simple.

A man could be your friend, your mate, even your fuck-buddy. But a man couldn’t love another man the way a woman could, I decided with the infinite wisdom of a 26-year-old.

So we played with each other’s willies all night. That’s really what it was, fiddling about just like little boys do. We were two big boys, playing with each other’s penises, to use the word Hogan taught me to say. It sounds medical, but he says it’s the grownup word so I started using it around him.   
  
Testicles. He taught me that, too. I was never overly fond of that particular body part, but he changed that with his wet tongue.

He gave me pleasure but held back his own. I knew what he really wanted. We done it before, back in Germany. Just him on me, not the other way around.   
  
It wasn’t my favorite thing. It always left me feeling a bit dirty. Inside the back door, he called it. Just a little bit, he said as he pushed against me. He didn’t have to go all the way in.

What he didn’t know was that he wasn’t the first. My brothers had beaten him to it. I hated them for that and I didn’t want him to hurt me.

But it was what he always wanted most of all, and after hours of making me come and come and come again, after practically worshipping my cock and balls, I couldn’t deny him. I let him in. I wanted him to own me.

He filled me up and thrust inside me, and I felt desperately needed by him. When he gushed inside me, I could feel his warmth, his seed. God, how I wished at that moment that we could make a baby together. Giving him a new life would bind us forever.

But that was ridiculous. I had to just focus on the pleasure. The blow job he gave me after he was done was incredible. A reward, he said, for his good boy. 

Yes, I was a good boy. To someone, at least. He covered me in kisses and held me and told me I would always have his heart.

It was supposed to be our last time.


	10. Turnberry 1957

“I never would have pegged you for a golfer,” Newkirk said as he and Colonel Hogan settled into their suite. The small living room offered sweeping views of the Irish Sea and the smallest of three golf courses. Newkirk was peering out the window, a glass of whiskey in hand. “That’s the Ailsa there — we could play nine holes there tomorrow, rest up, and then try the Kintyre or the Arran.” He turned to smile as Hogan ambled across the room from the bar with his vodka on the rocks.

”Sounds like a plan,” Hogan said amiably. “When on earth did you learn golf?”

”Oh, well, you know. Sometimes performers have to meet with the big muckety-mucks at the BBC, and golfing is a way to do that in a more relaxed setting. My manager forced me to learn. The game’s a bit slow for me, Sir, but it is interesting, and the fresh air’s a treat.”

”I’m just glad Rita let you get away,” Hogan said. “How is Rita, anyway? You’ve been keeping her awfully busy,” he teased.

” _I’m_ keeping _her_ busy? Surely you don’t think it’s my doing! That girl insists on having her way with me at every turn, Sir,” he said dramatically. “All right, fair enough, I might be having a go at that bird every now and then. Four kids under age 8, and number five will be here in about three months. Yes, she’s been a wee bit busy. I’m surprised she let me go, too. Urged me, actually. Sometimes I think she’s trying to get rid of me. One less child to look after, she says.”

Hogan grinned. “And how’s my boy Robert?” He’d been so proud when Newkirk called him breathlessly eight years earlier to announce his first child with Rita was a boy, and to ask permission — permission? — to use his name.

”A complete scoundrel,” Newkirk grinned proudly. “Last week I had to drag him by the ear to the news agent’s to return a packet of choccies we found on him. But Frank wouldn’t take it back. It seems Robert has charmed his daughter 7 year old daughter— and his wife.”

”Mm, a chip off the old block. Or is it blocks? He sounds like both of us,” Hogan laughed, standing close to Newkirk and draping an arm around his waist. “Well, cheers,” he said with a roguish smile as he clinked his glass with Newkirk’s. “Come on, sit.”

But Newkirk made a face and shook his head. He had been traveling all day and was tired of sitting. He and Hogan had made separate journeys to meet up in Glasgow, where Hogan picked up Newkirk at the train station in a military sedan with a driver at the wheel. The two-hour ride to Ayrshire had passed quickly in a blur of jokes and reminiscences in the back seat, with more than a hint of longing for times past. 

“Why don’t we look around the suite first, Sir?” Newkirk inquired. “It’s roomy, isn’t it? Are you sure I can’t help you pay for the lodgings?”

”I told you, Newkirk, this is on me and Uncle Sam. I’ve been on duty nonstop for three months and I’m entitled to a little R&R. You can pay for dinner.”

”And the imported vodka,” Newkirk jibed. “Yes, I see what you’ve done there. You might have the better end of the deal after all.”

They poked their head into the bedroom. Two double beds, and a spacious bath.

“Tub, no shower,” Hogan grumbled. “I suppose the hot and cold water comes out of different spigots, too.” It did. “You know, in the States, we have this amazing thing called a mixer tap. You don’t have to scald yourself when you wash your hands.”

Newkirk was smirking. “We are quite primitive,” he answered. “It’s a nice big bathtub, though. You could go for a swim in that.”

The resort was old and grand, though not fancy. The men were in the bedroom now, checking out the furnishings. Newkirk stopped in front of a dresser. ”It must have been posh once,” Newkirk murmured as he picked up a small porcelain vase and examined it, rubbing his finger over a chipped end.

”We’ve had worse,” Hogan said, as Newkirk nodded. In the mirror, he could see his Gov approaching him from behind. 

“We certainly have, Sir,” Newkirk replied. Hogan had a hand draped around his waist now, and Newkirk put down the vase, then stepped aside, masking the nervousness he felt.

”Is there a second room, or are we sharing?” he asked.

”No, this is it. We can see if something else is available if you’d rather not be...” Now it was Hogan’s turn to feel nervous, was it too forward to assume they could share a room?

Newkirk turned to face Hogan and smiled shyly. “No. I was hoping we’d share,” he said softly. “It’s been a long time.”

”It has,” Hogan said, wrapping his arms around his corporal. “The night before your wedding, if I’m not mistaken.”

Hogan wasn’t mistaken. Both men remembered that night as if 10 years had never intervened. The traditional night of rabble rousing with the soon-to-be-ex-bachelor had turned into an intense night of lovemaking more than a year after they thought they’d put an end to their affair.

“I nearly turned back at the altar,” Newkirk replied. “But God, i do love that girl.” He leaned into Hogan’s embrace as he had many times before. ”Look at us now,” Newkirk said, “w-we’re both happily mmmarried men. And fffathers.” He looked up expectantly at Hogan.

”Mm-hm,” Hogan said. “Good fathers. Naughty husbands.” He pressed his lips into Newkirk's and was pleased when he reciprocated. As he tasted his first and only male lover for the first time in a decade, Hogan noticed Newkirk’s stutter had resurfaced, and hearing that familiar voice aroused him even more. “My God, I’ve missed being alone with you, Peter,” he breathed.

“Show me how much,” Newkirk whispered back.


	11. Stupid Love: London, June 1945

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s June 1945 and Hogan will be shipping out for the States. On their last night together in London, Newkirk and Hogan make a promise.

“What time do you leave?” Newkirk asked.

Hogan was lying heavily on top of him, expended from another round of love-making. The past month in London had been a revelation to the two men. Finally they had the privacy, inside Hogan’s suite at the Dorchester, to take their time when they were together. As they had almost every night for four weeks, they returned from dinner with the Stalag 13 gang (or Hogan’s friends or Newkirk’s family) and instantly fell into bed together.

Soon it would be over.

”Nine o’clock train to Portsmouth,” Hogan replied. “We push out to sea at five P.M.” He kissed Newkirk’s jaw and that spot behind his ear that made him tingle. “I wish I could take you with me, Peter.”

”Don’t be ridiculous, Gov,” Newkirk replied with a grin. “They have a strict ‘no pets’ rule on all mmmilitary transport.”

”Mmm, my pet. Is that what you are?” Hogan was smiling slyly at his corporal. God, he looked good. A warm start to the English summer and lots of long walks in the freedom of outdoors had put golden streaks in Newkirk’s hair, which was just a little too long for regulation. His sideburns, meanwhile, were gone, a nod to the very rules he was breaking with his unshorn hair. His face, gaunt by the time Stalag 13 had shut down in April, had plumped up nicely now that his calorie intake was back into sustaining-human-life range. His eyes, always bright, were sparkling with mischief.

Newkirk responded with a lick across Hogan’s face, then another and another. Hogan was laughing now—giggling, in fact.

”Down, boy, down,” he commanded as Newkirk wriggled out from under him and climbed on top.

”Oh, I don’t see that happening,” Newkirk said cheerfully. “Up, boy, up is mmmore like it.” He grinned and stroked himself seductively as he settled into Hogan’s arms. “That’s what puppy love is like, Sir. Nonstop affection.”

”I think you mean nonstop erection. You’re wearing me out, little boy,” Hogan laughed, running his fingers over Newkirk’s chest. “OK, one more time.”

”Just one?” Newkirk whimpered. “We have all night. And I think you mean big boy,” he added, thrusting his pelvis into Hogan’s.

”Yes, and some of us aren’t in our 20s anymore,” Hogan said as he stroked the small of Newkirk’s back. “Little boy,” he teased, getting another thrust in return. “OK, not so little.”

”Or 30s, old man,” Newkirk reminded him. “At least you can celebrate your 40th with your family.”

”I’m sure my parents will make a big fuss,” Hogan said with a wince. “Right before they ask me when I’m getting married.”

”You should get married, Sir,” Newkirk said solemnly. “I’m going to propose to Rita on her birthday in August.”

”You? You little scamp! Why wait?” Hogan pulled Newkirk in for a kiss before letting him answer.

”Well, I need to buy a ring. And I wanted to put a little distance between proposing and... this.” His eyes darkened for a minute, then he leaned down to restart that kiss. “Not th-that I’m not loving every mmmminute of it, Sir. But we can’t very w-well go on like this. It isn’t done.”

”I know it isn’t done,” Hogan replied, enjoying being under Newkirk for a change. “That’s what makes it so fun. Well, that and the blow jobs.”

“Mmm, I am going to miss those,” Newkirk said as Hogan’s teeth and tongue lightly explored his collarbone.

”Rita won’t give you one? Oh, I think you can bring her around,” Hogan said.

”Oh, yes, I can get one,” Newkirk laughed. “It’s giving them to you that I’m going to mmmiss.”

Hogan looked into his eyes. He meant it.

”I’ll be back, Peter,” he said softly. “We can still see each other.” He stroked his cheek. “We can... get away together.”

”I know that, Sir,” Newkirk replied. “But it w-won’t be the same. We’ll have wives and kids and responsibilities that we don’t have now.” A dark look crossed his face again, but then he grinned. “Two years of pent-up need is a lot to w-work through, Sir. I don’t think it would be f-f-fffffair to impose this much sex on a lady, do you?”

Hogan laughed. “It might be a bit much for anyone who hasn’t been a POW, especially a lady,” he acknowledged. “For starters, her jaw would be aching.”

”My jaw IS aching,” Newkirk said. “The difference is I don’t mind, because I know how good it feels to be on the receiving end.” He leaned into Hogan’s ear. “My arse is aching too. I won’t mmmmiss that part, Gov.”

”Sorry, Newkirk. Sometimes a man just needs to penetrate,” Hogan smiled. “You won’t miss it even a little?”

”Mmmaybe a little,” Newkirk allowed. “I do like to fffeel you inside me.” He turned his attention to Hogan’s chest, slathering it with wet kisses and working diligently on his nipples before rolling off and lying on his back next to the Colonel-turned-General.

Hogan climbed over him and started to kiss him, then stopped abruptly.

”You’re crying,” He said softly, cupping Newkirk’s cheek in his hand. “Hey, hey. Tell Papa what’s wrong.”

”It’s st-stupid,” Newkirk said, wiping at his cheeks. 

Hogan kissed him deeply. “It's not stupid. Tell me.”

”I... I... I love you. I don’t want you to go,” Newkirk choked out.

”Peter,” Hogan sighed. “I love you too, baby. But I have to go home.” He stroked his cheek. “You know that, don’t you.”

”Of course I do,” Newkirk barked out, trying to control his wavering vocal cords. “That’s why I said it’s stupid. Now make stupid love to me, all right? Fuck me like there’s no tomorrow.”

Hogan looked at the bedside clock. It was 8:30 P.M. Sleep was overrated.

”There’s always tomorrow, Peter,” Hogan replied gently. “I’ll be back in England soon, and I'll come see you. I’ll always have room in my bed for you, whether you want to fuck hard or make love slowly.” He whispered in his ear. “Let’s do both tonight.”

Newkirk searched Hogan’s face. He saw nothing but honest emotion in the eyes of the most skilled liar he had ever known. After himself, of course. He knew what he needed right now, and that was security.

“Hold me?” he asked in a small voice.

In the two years since they’d become lovers, Hogan had come to recognize that vulnerable voice. It announced a deep need, an urgent plea for immediate care and attention to ride out an overwhelming attack of aching emptiness. It was Hogan’s signal to be quiet, hold tight and simply BE while Newkirk shut down to soothe his pain and recharge. More than their 16-year age difference, it was why he called Newkirk “little boy” and why Newkirk let him do it.

So Hogan gathered as much of Newkirk as he could onto his lap. They stayed that way for several minutes. Newkirk fiddled with Hogan's hair and stroked his neck while nibbling on just the tip of his thumb. He gazed toward Hogan with an unfocused, faraway look in his eyes.

Eventually he shifted and sharpened his focus. “Kiss me?” he asked softly. 

Hogan complied, gently kissing Newkirk’s jaw, neck, chin, cheeks and finally his lips. The infusion of tenderness was a lifeline for Newkirk, and Hogan reveled in giving it to him. He ministered to Newkirk’s needs as if he was waking Sleeping Beauty from a deep slumber. Forehead, temples, eyelids.

“Touch me?” Newkirk asked, guiding Hogan’s hand to his erection. Once Hogan’s right hand was firmly in place, Newkirk pulled Hogan’s left thumb into his mouth. That had taken Hogan some getting used to, but now the sensation of Peter’s lips and tongue on his thumb gave Hogan a tingle of pleasure. Masturbating Peter in sync with his little sucking moves had become a familiar ritual and it was surprisingly arousing.

Hogan smiled and gazed down affectionately while Newkirk leaned back and sighed. Hogan took satisfaction in feeling his own response build. God, he wanted Newkirk so badly.

Newkirk was panting now as he got harder. Hogan was skillfully stroking him up and down the length of his shaft, stopping to give extra attention to his tip. “Suck my willy?” Newkirk finally requested. “And don’t stop till I’m done.”

“Even if you beg me to stop?” Hogan checked.

”Especially if I beg you to stop,” Newkirk said. “Promise?”

”I promise,” Hogan grinned. “But you have to say...”

”Wee-wee,” Newkirk replied playfully.

”No, you idiot,” Hogan said, swatting him on the backside the gently rubbing. He whispered in his ear. “Say cock.”

”I can't say that,” Newkirk replied. Then he whispered in Hogan’s ear. “It’s a very naughty word.”

Hogan rolled his eyes, wriggled down and took Newkirk in his mouth. He started softly, gently with his tongue, the built up the tension until he was working Newkirk over mercilessly, and Newkirk was crying out for relief.

”Oh God, I can’t take it, Robert,” Newkirk moaned.

”I can stop,” Hogan said.

”Don’t you dare,” Newkirk replied. “J-just suck my cock.” At those words, Hogan knew Newkirk was back. He sped up, licking and sucking until the corporal could feel himself ready to explode.

”Robert.... oh, God, Robert...” Newkirk huffed our breathlessly as he came in Hogan’s mouth. As the pulsing subsided, Hogan continued to gently work over the tip with only his lips and tongue. Newkirk convulsed again, then caught his breath and climbed back on top of Hogan to smother him in kisses. Yes, he was back now. Strong. Alive. Manly.

Hogan’s resurrection of Newkirk's spirit was an act of pure love, and both men knew it. Sex had long ago ceased to be a transaction and had turned into a special creation between two men, so different but bound by circumstances and need. Hogan needed to take charge and make things right. Newkirk needed to surrender and trust and replenish.

They could go all night like this.

“Back door next, please, Sir?” Newkirk asked as he broke away from kissing Hogan and sat back across Hogan’s hips. “I want you to fill me up so badly.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Hogan replied. He was ready, and so was Newkirk. Hogan grabbed him by the shoulder before he could reposition himself. “Don’t turn around. Stay right there where I can look at you,” he said. “You can ride me.”

“Ohhhh, yes please,” Newkirk replied as he positioned himself over Hogan’s erection. He moaned as Hogan guided slowly himself inside and then together, face to face, they began to rock.


	12. Brothers: Paris, December 1945

“I told you it is the most beautiful city on earth, Pierre,” Louis LeBeau said to his companion as they peered through the condensation on the window of Le Cafe Americain to the street outside. Snow was lightly falling.

”It’s snowing. Must it bloody well always snow in Europe.” Newkirk grinned as LeBeau kicked him under the table. “Yes, it’s beautiful. I hope Rita can come next time.”

”By the time you two little love birds are married, I will have a bigger flat,” LeBeau said confidently. “The restaurant goes well.”

”That’s good, mate,” Newkirk replied. “We’re waiting a year. December 1946. I think it’s too long, but we need to save money, get on our feet properly.”

”You have a good, steady job,” LeBeau said. “It’s a start.”

”Yes, well, writing comedy sketches for the BBC is a start. Better than I ever thought I’d do, really. But I’m still doing tailoring on the side to make ends meet. Trying to take a trip to America before the wedding.”

”Two crossings—not cheap,” LeBeau replied.

”One crossing,” Newkirk corrected him. “Still not cheap.”

LeBeau bit his lip and hesitated before speaking. “You’re going to see him yourself? When is this happening?”

”Yes. In April.”

”Will Tiger be there?”

”For a few days. Then she’s flying to Paris to see her mum and dad.”

”Pierre... Peter,” LeBeau began. “He’s married. You’re engaged.”

”Oh, leave off, LeBeau,” Newkirk said irritably. “Who are you, the Vatican vice squad?”

“So you are planning...”

”Bloody hell, I’m not planning anything. You know Colonel Hogan. He’s very much in charge. He wants me to show me New York and Washington.”

”You’ll stay in hotels together.”

“Blimey, we’ve done that before.”

”Yes, I know.”

The two men went silent, sipping their coffee. Newkirk played with an eclair with his fork. LeBeau tangled his foot around his friend’s under the table, and finally Newkirk looked up and smiled.

”I can’t help it,” he said softly. “It’s just something I need. Doesn’t make me queer.”

LeBeau leaned across the table. “Yes, it does. And I love you anyway.” He took his friend’s hand.

Newkirk looked around nervously, then realized he didn’t have to worry. This was France. Men could kiss and hold hands in public and no one would think a thing of it. Provided it didn’t get too sexual, that is.

”Hold my hand on the way back to your flat, Louis.”

LeBeau laughed and shook his head. “All right.”

”It’s a novelty for me. I like to try new things,” Newkirk said with a grin.

XXX

They walked half a kilometer back to LeBeau’s place without attracting any attention. Arms linked, then hand in hand, they strolled and chatted. As they entered the flat, Newkirk pulled LeBeau into an embrace. To walk together that way, without a single look askance -- it was strangely freeing and exhilarating.

”That was bloody amazing,” Newkirk said.

"What?" LeBeau said with a grin. "It's only walking."

"You've been to London and you know perfectly well it's not 'only walking,' mate," Newkirk laughed. "I've never done that." He leaned over LeBeau inside the flat. "Imagine being out in public and being able to hold hands and kiss whoever you wanted to," he said.

"Please," LeBeau said. "That will never happen, not even in France. You need to be careful, Pierre.

Newkirk looked intensely at LeBeau, then leaned down to kiss him on both cheeks. He gazed into those deep brown eyes. “Louis,” he said in a low tone. "Cor, I've missed you."

” _Chut, chut_ ,” LeBeau replied. He led Newkirk to a sofa, pushed him down, then straddled his lap. “I know what you need, mon pote.” He kissed him on the lips, and Newkirk responded with equal intensity.

”I don’t do this with other boys, you know,” Newkirk whispered. “Just you and the colonel.”

”Maybe you should try it,” LeBeau whispered back. He unbuttoned Newkirk’s shirt and slid his hands under it.

Newkirk felt himself dropping back into a lying position on the sofa as LeBeau climbed on top of him. “Have you? Tried it with other boys, I mean?”

”No, but I’m not queer. I only make an exception for you, because you're a Nancy boy," LeBeau teased.

”Now you sound like my brothers,” Newkirk grinned. “May they rot in hell. Right, then. Show little Nancy what you can do, Louis.”


	13. Stalag 13, April 1944: That’s no lady, that’s the guy upstairs

“Stop looking at me that way, Carter. And no, you are not taking me to the c-canteen for a beer. I just w-w-want to get this over and bleeding done with.” Newkirk was dressing for his mission with LeBeau’s help while Carter watched in fascination.

”Well, you do look pretty good as a girl, Newkirk. Hey, are your sisters this pretty?”

”I am not pretty. I’m strikingly handsome,” Newkirk snarled. “And all ffffour of my sisters are lovely, thank you very much.”

”Blonde or brunette?”

”What? Both! Two of each, if you must know. And I’ll thank you to st-st-stop thinking about my sisters, you randy little man. Confine your impure th-thoughts to Mary Jane. I’ve heard you going at yourself at night and it’s disgusting.”

LeBeau snorted at that but withheld his thoughts about pots calling kettles black.

Carter was not the master of the snappy comeback, so all he could do was grunt, “It takes one to know one.”

”Knock it off, girls,” Hogan said as he returned to his office where Newkirk was getting ready for the Kraut generals’ tea party. He looked at Newkirk and couldn’t help but smile. “You look very dignified, Newkirk,” he said.

”The very look I was going for,” Newkirk grumbled. “Nothing too attractive. The last bleeding thing I need is Klink deciding he’d like to get to know me better.”

”You do not want le Kommandant taking an interest,” LeBeau agreed. “He might like what he finds.”

”Or Burkhalter. That’s be worse, boy,” Carter said as Hogan waved him and LeBeau to the door.

Newkirk got nauseous just thinking about it. He sat down on the Colonel’s bottom bunk and mopped his brow. Hogan stood looking down at him, then sighed and pulled up a stool. He sat and faced Newkirk.

”Nervous, soldier?” he asked softly.

”Of course I am,” Newkirk replied. “A chap could bleeding w-well get sh-shot fffor this,” Newkirk answered, his irritation showing. “Why me, Sir?”

”I told you—you look good in basic black, Newkirk.”

”No. I look old in basic black. A pretty blue or green is really more my color,” Newkirk mused.

”I’ll get you something in blue or green next time,” Hogan replied, laying a hand on Newkirk’s knee.

”There’s going to be a next time? Bloody hell,” Newkirk replied. “I’m tired of these cross-dressing missions. Can’t I just risk my neck in regular heels?”

“Who said anything about a mission? I was thinking about a little getaway for just the two of us,” Hogan said. Newkirk was looking at him quizzically, so he added, “A hotel. Candlelight. A bed with pillows.”

”And a frock?” Newkirk asked, rolling his eyes.

”If that means a dress, then yes, a frock.” Hogan leaned in closer. “You really are a very pretty girl, you know. You could dress up just for me and I could get lost in your eyes.”

”I don’t think my eyes are w-where you’ll be lost. And I think you urgently need sssome time with Tiger, Sir,” Newkirk said teasingly. The Colonel smelled of leather and something woody and spicy, and he couldn’t resist. He ran a hand over Hogan’s cheek. “What am I to do about Carter, Gov? He fffffancies me like this.”

“Tell him you’ve promised yourself to me,” Hogan said, wrapping his hand over Newkirk’s. “Then offer him a blow job.”

”Oh, very nice, that is,” said Newkirk with a sour expression. “He’d never get over the shock. And he’s really not my type.”

”And what is your type?” Hogan asked as he stole a kiss.

“My type? Oh, I think you know the answer to that, Sir. Tall, dark, and colonel,” Newkirk replied, giving into the kiss. They explored for a bit until Newkirk had to slap away Hogan’s wandering hands. They had groped a little too close to his danger zone.

“Naughty, naughty, Colonel,” Newkirk said. “We mustn’t get white spots all over my black dress.” He straightened his wig, stroked the Colonel’s jaw and neck, rose from the bunk and brushed past Hogan on his way to the door.

“Meet you back here after the party for a debriefing, Sir?” Newkirk cooed over his shoulder, trying hard to control his breathing.

Hogan stood with difficulty, bending slightly at the waist. “Yes, Ma’am,” he said with a smile. “Newkirk?” 

“Yes, Sir?”

“I need 10 minutes alone. Can you make sure I’m not disturbed?”

Newkirk smiled, feeling more than a little triumphant at having stoked the flames of passion to a dull roar. “Of course, Sir. I’ll mmmake sure the boys know you have something big that you really need to concentrate on right now. Something qu-quite... urgent. And Sir?” 

“Mmm?” Hogan’s nostrils were flaring ever so slightly as he took in Newkirk’s flattery. Yes, big. It was hard to focus on anything else.

”Some day you must tell me how you mmmmanage to be so very quiet. It’s not my fffforte. I’ve always been t-t-terribly loud.” He bit his lower lip and lowered his eyes in a most fetching manner.

The sight before him and the mental image Newkirk had just conjured were enough to ratchet up Hogan’s sense of urgency. “I’ll give you some pointers later when we recap the mission, Corporal. We’d better budget at least an hour for that. Now scram.” He watched with affection as Newkirk gathered his skirts and scurried away, smiling charmingly. Then he crossed the room with a chair, jammed it under the door handle and unzipped his snug pants. Thoughts of debriefing a certain frisky corporal danced in his head.

This would not take him long, Hogan mulled, and his pants would fit much more comfortably at the tea party.


	14. Sticky Wicket

March 1944

”Newkirk, we’ve been over this. You did something incredibly stupid. You put the entire operation at risk. It’s going to take time.”

”I know, Sir, but how long am I to be p-p-punished? I’ve watched mmmmmonth after month as you’ve let the other lads go into town and see the ladies. W-Won’t it ever be my turn? I’ve tr-tr-tried to be good, and I’ve done every thing you’ve asked and I... well, I have needs too, Sir.”

I smirked. Newkirk seemed to do a pretty good job meeting his needs here in camp. And we’d had a few trysts of our own in the tunnels, in my quarters, even in the shower once. It wasn’t like he wasn’t getting off.

”What exactly is it you’re missing, Newkirk?” I closed the distance between us, and could feel his breath on my neck. “Anything I can do to help?” God, I wanted him so badly whenever he got that shy, vulnerable look.

”Wwwwww...” He mouthed the word, struggled to push it out. “Wwwwell... no, sir, I don’t think this is something you’d allow.”

”Try me.”

”Wwwwwell, you know. Wwwwith a lady I can, um, uh...” He thrust his pelvis to show me what he meant. “You know. In.” Then he whispered, “Like you’ve done to me, Sir. But I couldn’t. Not to you.”

”No,” I said firmly. “No, I would not allow that.”

”Sir, yes, Sir,” he replied. 

“You’re not ready to go into town yet, Newkirk. You need a little more time.” I leaned in closer. “A little more...”

”Discipline,” he sighed as our lips met. 

“Mmm hmm,” I answered, feeling myself stiffening as my tongue explored his mouth and my hands crept under his shirt. I stopped long enough to jam a chair under my office door, then returned to tug his shirt off.

His skin was soft and warm, his chest still smooth. I pushed him down on my bunk and climbed on top, sucking his nipples before wandering south. I licked my way down his chest to his belly and the hint of hair below his belly button. He was responding too, and I unbuttoned his fly to let myself play with his toys.

We continued exploring until I finally couldn’t hold back. “Over,” I said. “I’ll get the lotion.”

”I don’t want you to, Sir. I’ll be good.”

”Sorry, no. I told you. You need discipline. I want to teach you a lesson.”

He turned, got onto his hands and knees, and then crouched. I got behind him and began to prepare him. Lotion, a finger, more lotion, a second finger, more lotion, a third. He was grunting softly when I withdrew my fingers and pressed closer. Pushing and rocking, I slowly made my way inside, then sighed loudly as his warmth engulfed me. I picked up the pace, then pulled out to slow us down, then got back inside and rode him hard. Thrusting, driving, destroying him. Soon my wetness was splashing inside him as he gasped.

I pulled out, then collapsed on my back beside him. I watched with satisfaction as he stroked himself to a completion, then I took over just as he was ready to come. I took his hard cock in my lotion-slicked hand and brought him to heaven. I took the warmth he gushed into my hand to his face and reveled as he licked it clean.

”Good boy,” I said. “That’s your reward.” I climbed on top of him to kiss and caress him. “Not your turn,” I said when he started to reciprocate. “I touch you, not the other way around.”

”Yes, colonel, Sir,” he replied. He laid passively as I explored him. In 20 minutes he was stiff again. This time I took him in my mouth and licked and sucked as he writhed beneath me. I came all over his belly, leaving a sticky mess, and he came in my mouth.

”Sir,” he said softly. “Can we play this again tomorrow?”

”Mmm hmm,” I said. “You start by asking...”

”When is it my turn to go into town?” he asked, grinning. “And you say 'Not yet, because you need more discipline,'” he whispered in my ear.

Mmmm. I loved the feel of his breath in my ear, on my neck, on my cheek. "You're a very smart little boy," I purred. "Maybe some day I'll let you play with the little girls in town. But only if you're very, very good."

“I try to be v-very good when I'm with you, Sir. And there's really no need to rush me back into town,” he said as he caressed my balls and flaccid cock. “We can get our wickets st-sticky right here.” 

Mmmm. Hotel. Soon. 


	15. National Health

Peter came into the hospital room, smiling broadly at Rita. He was almost giddy as he scooped their tiny newborn up into his arms. “The Colonel said yes. He said he’d be honored if we named the baby after him.”

Then he nuzzled the infant, nose to nose. “Welcome to the world, Robert Winston Newkirk,” he said proudly.

Rita smiles sweetly at her husband, knowing he was utterly in love with their son. They’d spent the last two years raising Peter’s little boy Simon together, and Rita already knew Peter was a marvelous daddy, even to such an emotionally fragile child. Now, seeing the perfect blend of herself and Peter in his arms, Rita was deeply contented.

Then she thought about the third person in their marriage. Robert Hogan. She wondered how much he knew.

Did he know Peter has been brutally honest with her about the nature of their relationship? When they were sitting at dinner in Paris together last month with Hogan’s gorgeous wife Marie-Louise, were they think about their wives, or one another? 

She smiled affectionately at Peter, then teased him: “Did you think there was even a possibility he would say no?”

Peter’s expression shifted ever so slightly. The joy was still there, but there was something behind it. “W-well no, but I needed to ex, explain it,” he said.

”What did he say?” Rita asked.

”He said in America the custom is to name the firstborn son after the father,” Peter replied, “and I told him, oh, no. It’s different here. It’s more common to name the first boy after the ffffather’s father.” He blushed a little. “And I told him that’s what he was to me, w-w-whether he liked it or not. Even if that made him a very young fffather,” he joked.

Father? Brother? Leader? Hero? Friend? Lover? Yes, Rita knew Hogan was all of these things to her sweet husband. 

She had decided some time ago that answers about Hogan didn’t matter. She had no question about Peter’s devotion to her. And if he had occasionally sought a different kind of warmth and affection, the fact was he always came back to her.

To her. Rita Nottington Newkirk. The girl who had waited six years for Peter to come home.

She’d had her own dalliances during that long separation. There was nice, dull Nigel from Dorset, Bill with bad breath from Brixton, Casimir, the Polish airman with the deliciously long... well. Ronan, an Irish trombonist who played with the Jack Helton ‘s dance band and liked to stay up all night. And there was Madeleine Wilcox, with whom she’d spent numerous wartime evenings at home, practicing for their men’s returns. She hadn’t told Peter about that; two girls together hardly seemed the same as two men, sticking things God knows where.

This baby and a second chance at fatherhood would change everything. Rita was sure of it. 

**XXX**

A week later they were home in bed, under strict orders to avoid intercourse for five more weeks. Rita, exhausted and swollen and dripping milk, had no difficulty sticking to her end of the bargain.

Peter was a different matter. He was aroused by pregnancy. Fascinated with the new curves and swells in her body. Intrigued by her almighty breasts. In awe of her orgasms, which had never been more intense or frequent than when she was with child. 

She knew what to do, how to please him when she couldn’t let him in. Her hands and tongue were exceptionally skilled. 

As she focused on his balls, his cock, she found herself wondering about Robert. When had his hands been, exactly.

”Peter, love,” she said breathlessly.

”Oh God... yes, darling? Oh, right there, yes.”

”Is this what it’s like when...”

”When?” he replied.

”When it’s between two men. Is it like this, or is it different? What would you be doing right now?”

”Rita, why? W-what?”

”Just wondering,” she purred seductively. “How different is it?”

Peter looked deeply into his wife’s eyes and felt love and trust radiating back at him. Perhaps he could tell her.

”Why d-do you w-w-w-want to know?” Peter stammered. 

“Because it’s different. Exciting,” she said. Then she leaned into his ear. “And very, very sexy to imagine you making love with a big, strong man.”

“Huh,” Newkirk said, with a small grin. “Well, right about now The Colonel would be stroking me like you are. But he might go a little faster and use a little extra lotion on my tip because it can get sore.”

”Where are you? Rita inquired.

Peter had to think about that before the meaning sank in, ”On the b-b-bottom, usually,” he admitted. “Jus-ju-ju-just, just like us, most of the time.”

”So you masturbate together?”

”Well, that and a bit more,” Peter conceded. “You know how you don’t really like, um, you know, eating me?”

”Eating?” Rita said. Then she got it. “Oh, um, yeah!

”Does he go up your bum?” she whispered sexily.

”Oh my god, yes. Not often, but when he does... Oh, yes.”

(To be continued)


End file.
